Brokeback Cabin
Secrets and desires can't stay hidden in the wilderness. Under all that flannel and friendly smiles, there’s a spark too hot to ignore.
⚠ NSFW images below. ⚠
"God damn, bro, what the hell was that?" Red's voice cut through the stillness of the woods, his frustration unmistakable. I was just as pissed. Four hours out here, and I’d missed the cleanest shot of my life.
"Shit, man, I don’t know. My bad," I muttered, trying to defuse his irritation. Truth be told, it was probably the four beers I’d downed back at the cabin.
"Yeah, well, don’t think I’m gonna let you live this one down," Red growled, throwing a playful but hard punch to my shoulder.
The sun was sinking, and the chill in the air was biting. We started the long trek back to the cabin, our boots crunching over the frost-covered ground. Hank had lent us the place for the weekend, a rare escape from the grind back home.
Red and I worked together at Jimmy’s Plant Farm—he drove the big rig, and I loaded it. The job kept us on the road more often than not, running a route that stretched from Raleigh to Nashville to Birmingham, with plenty of pit stops in small towns along the way.
Red’s wife, Ann, hated the schedule. She’d made it clear she didn’t sign up to be a trucker’s wife. It was a sore spot for him, though he didn’t discuss it much. Red wasn’t one for deep conversations. He was a "show, don’t tell" kind of guy—a trait that had kept our friendship alive since high school.
The night was brutal, cold enough to freeze your breath mid-air. Red paused by a tree. "Hold up, I gotta take a leak."
"That’s twice in twenty minutes. What are you, ten?" I teased, shifting my weight to stay warm.
"Can’t help it if the lizard needs draining," he shot back, unzipping his fly.
"Hurry the hell up. If you shake it more than twice, you’re playing with it."
"Not what your wife said," he quipped, smirking as he zipped back up. His laugh echoed in the frosty air as we jogged the last stretch to the cabin.
Back inside, I headed out to grab firewood while Red jumped in the shower. The fire was nearly out, and the cabin was bitterly cold. I split a few logs and stoked the flames until they roared back to life. Upstairs, I could hear Red belting out a country tune, his voice surprisingly decent for someone who didn’t give a damn about pitch.
By the time he came downstairs, the fire had warmed the place up nicely. Red strolled into the room, a towel hanging precariously low on his hips. My eyes darted away, but not before catching a glimpse of his chiseled torso. He was lean, sculpted from years of hard labor at the plant farm. His abs were taut, his pecs dusted with just the right amount of hair.
"You cooking something?" he asked, pulling a beer from the fridge and tossing me one.
"Yeah, found some pork chops and peas in the freezer. Should be ready soon," I said, focusing a little too hard on the microwave.
Red took a swig of his beer and absently scratched his chest. "You think I should shave this? Ann keeps bugging me about it."
"Why not?" I shrugged, turning to set the timer.
"She wants me to shave… everything," he said, his tone tinged with disbelief.
"Balls, too?"
He nodded, grimacing. "I’d look like I was twelve. Can’t do it."
I couldn’t hold back a snort. "They say it makes you look… bigger."
Red smirked, his hand sliding down to adjust the towel. "Don’t need any help there," he said, grabbing his crotch for emphasis.
The rumors were legendary. Even in high school, people whispered about Red’s impressive endowment. I’d tried to sneak a peek a couple of times in the locker room, but he was always maddeningly discreet.
I knew he was straight—hell, he’d slept with half the cheerleading squad. But some part of me always wondered. Not about him, exactly, but about myself. Being around Red tangled my thoughts, twisting my insides into knots I couldn’t explain. I’d dated plenty of girls, but none ever made my pulse race like he did.
Red wasn’t just a guy. He was the guy—the one who made me question everything I thought I knew about myself.
My eyes drifted to Red, absentmindedly rubbing his beard while studying the label on his beer bottle. The firelight danced across his chest, the hard lines of muscle shadowed by the faint dusting of hair. My gaze lingered a beat too long, tracing the curve of his shoulders until the microwave's beep jolted me from my trance.
“What’s going on down there?” Red’s voice broke through my haze, his beer bottle pointing squarely at my crotch.
I glanced down, horrified to see the unmistakable tent in my sweatpants.
“Thinking about that fine-ass wife of yours?” Red teased, grinning as he lifted his beer to his lips.
“Yeah… can’t go too long without her,” I lied, forcing a chuckle.
After dinner, we sprawled on the couch, a growing pile of empty bottles cluttering the coffee table. Red stretched out, his towel still barely hanging on, his beer bottle resting on his thigh. A loud, unapologetic belch erupted from him, shaking the cabin's quiet.
“Damn, son,” I laughed, wobbling to my feet to throw another log on the fire.
“Felt damn good, too,” Red shot back, lounging deeper into the couch.
As I stooped by the fire, my gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, between his legs. The towel had parted slightly, revealing the faintest glimpse of bare skin beneath. My breath caught as his legs shifted wider, and I felt the heat rising to my face.
“Get a good look?” Red asked, his voice low and teasing as he closed his legs.
I snapped my head away, fumbling for an excuse. “I wasn’t looking. I was… thinking.”